


white nose.

by bubblyfond



Series: white nose. [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-08
Updated: 2016-12-08
Packaged: 2018-09-07 06:38:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8787544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bubblyfond/pseuds/bubblyfond
Summary: (noun; bus·boy \ˈbəs-ˌbȯi\)busboy:  a waiter's assistant; specifically : one who removes dirty dishes and resets tables in a restaurant.the one where a busboy can't stand the snob.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Floating On The Water](https://archiveofourown.org/works/670881) by [scottmcniceass](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scottmcniceass/pseuds/scottmcniceass). 



> This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

chapter one.

* * *

  
His hands tingled as they scooped up the bucket full of dishwater, shuffling back to the kitchen where a boy like him belonged. He had been working at this restaurant for just a few months and his routine had made him a zombie. A shaky breath escaped his lips as he dumped the bucket and the dishes into the large dishwasher. His brain only half focused on the task at hand while some of his thoughts wandered. How quickly would it take him to step out to the bathroom for a line before anyone would notice that he was missing?

 

With a shake of his head, he grabbed the hose and sprayed off the dishes before he sent them through to wash. He twisted and turned his way around the kitchen folk to the back bathroom, breaking out his medicine compact. One razor and a few lines later, his irritability had passed and he readied himself for the rest of his shift to come and go. Stepping back onto the hardwood of the darkened room, he clutched a few plates from an orphaned table, dumping the contents into the trash cart. Then he finished gathering the rest of the discarded items on the table.

 

Seeing as it was a Thursday, it was rather slow. He knew that the regulars would pop in, take up a booth or table for an hour or two and then it would be his time to shine. He also figured that the place would go quiet around ten. Then he could convince his boss that he wasn’t needed when there were only a few lonely singles.

 

When the clock struck ten, he crept back into the kitchen, his hands fumbled to take off his apron. He discarded the smock into the dirty laundry and padded off to find his commander in chief. As he looked into the restaurant, he saw the blonde followed by a group of rowdy boys. Dread washed over his face when he saw them and realized that his plan of leaving early was just a pipe dream.

 

A crash of the door startled the kitchen crew. All of them staring at the short blonde who had just entered and the look on her round face said it all. None of them were leaving until the rowdy group had their fill and left. A rough sigh escaped his lips and he excused himself outside for a cigarette break.

 

Closing his eyes as soon as his slender back crashed against the wall, his long fingers tugged the box from his pocket. Smacking it against his hand a few times before he plucked a white stick from the shiny box. _“Fuck,”_ he muttered to himself, his tingling hand brought the cigarette up to his lips. He set it ablaze and took a slow drag which was followed by a long sigh. Flicking the ash off of the stick as he glanced around, one hand rubbed at his uncovered arms.

 

There were times when he wished that he could just have it all. No worries in the world, taking life for granted like the boys in the restaurant did. But the dark-haired fellow knew that would never be an option for him. After his lonely break from reality, he stepped back into the warm embrace of the restaurant as his hands fumbled again to slide on his apron. While outside, he had convinced himself that he could get away with just cleaning dishes and avoid the posh group who made his entire body wretch with hatred.

 

Time passed, as did champagne bottles, more than anyone could count. Soon the dim restaurant of 42nd and Cherry had closed, or at least it was supposed to. He had finished the dishes too early for his liking and was now left to clear the table. He snatched up the plates, some still covered in warm food, tossing it all into the trash. Honestly, it was a waste, but he, nor anyone, could do anything about it.

 

Rolling his eyes as he picked up a wine glass, he found fifty pounds floating inside. He dipped his fingers in and pulled it out, drying it on his apron and shoving it deep into his front pocket. This time, he moved faster, snatching up all the utensils on the table and dumping it all into the trash cart. Pushing the cart back to the kitchen, a deep sigh leaving his lips as he burst through the door into the kitchen and dumped everything into the sink.

 

Everything about the rowdy group irked him, a bubbling sensation filled his stomach as he thought about them. Everything they had was just thrown at their feet and even then, some were too lazy to pick it up. Snarling, he headed back to the large table and began cleaning the glass, scrubbing in small circles with his cloth. He was too focused on the table to notice a figure standing over him, that was until he stood and saw the fellow holding out another fifty pounds. “Not sure if it’ll help, but here.” One of the boys from earlier quipped, a goofy smile adorning his face.

 

Now the dark haired boy had seen a lot, but never something like this. He sat down the rag and looked at the lad, taking everything about him in. “Thanks, but I don’t take money from people like you.” he spat, knowing that he was in the wrong, but it was late and his skin felt like it was crawling. The blonde lad tilted his head and furrowed his eyebrows before he slid the money back into his pocket. “Alright, whatever mate, forget it.” and then the blonde disappeared out of the doors and into the night.

 

Another sigh escaped from his pouting lips as a shaky hand through his hair. He finished cleaning and dashed to the kitchen, dumping his apron into the dirty pile before he headed out into the darkness as he always did. Stepping quietly, he slid his jacket over his shoulders, straightening it out, his hands sliding into his pockets. He couldn’t believe that the blonde had assumed that because he was a busboy that he was struggling. He snarled to himself and shook the thought away, the idiot wasn’t even worth his time even if he had been correct.

 

Opening the door and tossing his shoes into the corner of his apartment, he dropped his jacket over a chair and tugged down his dark jeans. Some quick fumbling with the tight material left him on the floor, curses flying as he rubbed at his nose, crawling his way toward his mattress on the chilled floor. Tugging the compact from his discarded jeans, he cut up a few lines and breathed them in with the fifty pounds he’d found earlier. Falling backward onto the white mattress, he ruffled his own hair and let his eyes close for a moment. Then he heard the soft mewling come from the kitchen and then felt the eight-pound cat pounce onto his chest.

 

A few coughs escaped his lips, “Yeah, yeah, fuck you too, mate.” He cleared his throat as he dragged his fingers slowly through the feline’s fur. Then felt the gray cat step off his chest and saunter back into the kitchen. Shaking his head, he rubbed at his eyes and tugged the duvet over his head, hugging the pillow to him. The dark haired boy knew that sleep wouldn’t come easily since it never did. Though he always had some hope that the drugs would put him out of his misery, but he would feel rude for leaving his cat alone.

 

After an hour of wrestling with the duvet and trying to get comfortable, he decided that enough was enough. He slowly padded to the kitchen, reaching first for a bowl and then his cereal. Grabbing a spoon, he slunk to the living room, laying back against the arm of the couch. He flipped on his small television, sliding a spoonful of the sugary treat into his mouth while he flipped through the channels. He was trying to find a program that didn’t remind him of his late grandmother. He stopped on a home improvement program and continued to shovel in his cereal, half watching the program.

 

At the commercial break, he sauntered back to the kitchen, leaving the bowl in the sink. Then he made his way back into his small living room, reaching for the remote when he heard a familiar voice flood the room. He glanced up, his eyes popped open as the blonde boy from the restaurant appeared. Quickly sitting down, plopping the gray feline to the floor, he turned up the volume and listened to the advertisement.

 

“With the Eastern Vista Hotel, you’ll be treated like family. Call to book a room today!” the blonde on the commercial spoke cheerfully.

 

After his eyes went back to normal, the brunette sat back and rubbed at his jaw. He couldn’t believe that the scum of the earth he had spoken to, actually owned a hotel. “Fucking hell,” he muttered to himself, turning off the TV before he cut out his lights and crawled back onto his mattress.


End file.
